


Billdip Week 2017

by MU_I



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Billdip Week, Bipper, Deer Dipper Pines, Hunter Bill Cipher, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MU_I/pseuds/MU_I
Summary: Billdip Week: the celebration of the love shared between one boy and a maniacal cornchip





	1. Day 1 - Creatures

Shit. _Shit._ **SHIT.**

Dipper had already been pulling frantically at the teeth that had wrapped his hind leg like some rabid dog refusing to let go, fingers scrabbling urgently at the metal catches, but the howls – worryingly close – that shattered the calm of the forest caused him to freeze, evoking a panicked bleat to fall from the back of his throat. All colour fled his face and he resumed his efforts, wrenching at the locks with a sudden new fervour.

He cursed his stupidity as he worked. Any idiot would have seen the trap for what it was, but no, not Dipper. Sleep deprived and still high off the argument he’d just fled from, the issue still unfinished and left waiting to tear open once more behind him, he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even known it was there. Not until it was too late. He groaned, pausing from the trap to rip a hand through his curls.

_“I can handle myself, Stan.”_

_The gargoyle’s entire body shuddered as he gave a snort that sounded like hard brick caught in a cement mixer. “Have you seen yourself kid? You’re a walking meal ticket.”_

_“Yeah Dip-Dop.” Mabel grinned as her head broke the water’s surface, arms sliding over the tank’s edges to pull half her body up onto the thinned ledge. “No offence, but you do like kind of tasty. In an adorable, my brother’s a deer boy who I definitely wouldn’t eat kind of way.” She amended hurriedly, offering an apologetic small smile from behind the curtain of dripping, sodden chocolate as he flinched back as if burned._

_“But-“_

_“No buts kid.” The stone mass cut firmly over. “And yours stays here, so sit that fuzzy behind down on the couch.”_

_“I’m not some child, Stan.” Dipper snapped angrily. “I’m eighteen, and capable enough to look after myself!” He shouted as he ran off, slamming the Shack door behind him hard enough to rattle the decrypt building in its foundations._

_He didn’t look back, ploughing determinedly on to angry mutterings of overprotective great uncles and literal helicopter parenting, so taken in his rage that he didn’t seen the gleam of metal beneath rusted copper leaf, didn’t think anything of the eerily silent, normally so vibrant scene until it was too late and he was down on the ground, howling as bleached freckles danced paths through his vision as his leg exploded._

He’d run off to the forest like some petulant infant sulking after a scolding and what had he done? Dipper ‘The Capable’ Pines had fallen into a fucking bear trap. 

“No no no no _c’mon_.” he whined, bile building in the back of his throat as his fuzz spewed crimson.

His ears flicked up and down, twitching restlessly at the sides of his face before stopping dead at the unmistakable sound of dried leaves crunched helplessly beneath feet. _Two feet_. He scrabbled uselessly at the trap in one last ditch effort to get free. His fingers slipped off of the fangs, unable to find hold in the scarlet muck. Seconds later the line of plush undergrowth parted and a human staggered unsteadily through.

Dipper froze before cowering, withering beneath the long astonished whistle. The sound was somehow much scarier than any promise of overgrown dog eager to rip his limbs off. He forced a reluctant glance up from the thick muck-lined boots approaching with confident swagger, though all too soon he wished he hadn’t as his eyes met the pointed end of shotgun aimed directly to his face.

He gulped, swallowing thickly, following the body of the gun to the tan kissed fingers gripping it, raising from wrists to elbows wrapped by crisp white rolled shirt sleeves boasting powerful muscle, following from the satchel strap worn easily in the slant of shoulders to lines of elegant swan neck clipped by a lash of dripped jet bowtie. He forced further examination, finding chiselled sharp jawline and a lopsided grin boasting twin rows of perfectly formed blinding pearled whites eerily stretching to the sides of face.

An orb, feline in sketch and burned a distinct, unnerving amber glow seemed to sense his stare, its frame of butterfly lashes offering a bat in a clumsy what he guessed was a wink, though it was near impossible to tell as the other eye was clung to, the round obscured behind a patch of ebony that blotted a full set from sight.

A mess of loose fitting bangs fell in sloppy waves over the covering, entirely spun gold save for a splinter running the front dyed a morbid raven in a stunning clash of inky pitch night sky and starkly burnt daylight.

“Oooh meals on wheels, er, hooves.” The hunter amended poorly, rubbing over thin pocks of stubble thoughtfully as he bent to almost eye level, continuing to loom uneasily over even though he had now stooped to a low crouch. “Got a name, there Bambi?”

Oh for the love of- Dipper growled, now more than ever wishing he was free so he could gore the man on the spikes poked ever so helpfully from the top of his head. He'd already had a lifetime of such names from his sister after her discovery of the animating company giant.

“Yeah I do,” He spat angrily. “And it ain’t a fucking Disney reference.”

“Language.” The hunter chided in a chirpy upbeat tone. Invading fingers tilted Dipper’s face this way and that before finally settling it upwards to lock with that piercing stare. “Real spitfire, ain’t ya, Pine Tree?”

Dipper silently raised a brow, his lips pouting to an unspoken question.

“Pine Tree?” The blonde repeated, sighing a loud sound of exasperation. Dipper felt a creep of gratitude as the hands fell away, leaving his face free to rap loudly on the rotted bark of the tree he was collapsed beside. “C’mon, you’re telling me a budding deer boy like you can’t even identity a beautiful specimen of pinos massoniana when they’re bleeding out all over it?”

Dipper stared at the hunter, dumbfounded. He was beginning to think the guy was a few pinos short of a massoniana himself.

“Look man,” he stuttered, starting nervously only to be stopped suddenly as the stranger bullishly interrupted.

“It’s Bill,” The hunter introduced in gratingly nasal pitch. “Bill Cipher. Best trapper this side of Gravity Falls.” He boasted proudly as he stood, already impossibly tall drawing to further height. The chest puffed out to a light murmur of silken jet waistcoat, the figure haughtily preening as their lips pulled off to an obnoxious smirk.

“Uh okay, look Bill.” Dipper scratched bloody fingers awkwardly over the back of his elbow. “There’s obviously been some kind of accident, I was just out walking and I may have fallen into one of your traps.” Dipper felt his face flame. He reddened, blushing furiously. God he sounded so stupid even to himself. “So if you’d kindly free me I can just be on my way.”

Bill chuckled. “Why what luck, I was just thinking the same thing myself!”

“You…were?” Dipper asked doubtfully, suspiciously eyeing those sharkish teeth and mouth that had wrenched a wolfish grin so hungry it may as well have been dripping crystalline globs over his fur.

Further handfuls of chopped caramel scrambled over the eyepatch as Bill rocked excitedly back and forth on his heels. “Yes indeedy.”

“Great.” Dipper coughed weakly. “Then uh, if you’d please.”  He gestured expectantly to his snared leg.

“Oh.” Bill’s lips popped open in exclamation. “Right. Yes.” He knelt again, a purple flicker of tongue pushed out from crimson lines in concentration as he flung the flap of tan satchel open and briefly rifled through the contents, grunting an “ _ah-hah!”_ as he drew out an ugly pair of pliers.

Dipper sighed in relief as the weight fell away from his leg. As soon as he felt the presence of teeth gone he bolted, his family would be starting to get worried and there was something about Bill that was… off. For once he was all too happy to give in to animal urge and let deer instinct take over.

He ploughed forward in a surge of adrenaline and desperation, making a charge for the break in trees to his front, but Bill’s arm was faster and he screeched agony, his body suddenly anchored in place once more as fingers gripped a new trap, impossibly strong, around his injured, still profusely bleeding leg to pin him in place for the second time that day.

The single yellow eye narrowed to a dangerous slit as the man’s personality spun a sudden sharp 180, giddy child in a toyshop turned violent predator stalking its prey. The previously chipper tone thinned to a low hiss, echoed by Dipper’s gurgled bleats of discomfort. He squirmed as Bill’s fingers tightened, digging into the ditch carved open through his damp fuzz. “And where do you think you’re going?”

 _Anywhere away from you._ Dipper thought, but decided in favour of his furry behind not to say. Instead he stopped pulling against the arm holding him, arms crossing defensively to his open chest as he muttered a sulky “Home.”

“Nuh-uh.” The man sang cheerily. “Home’s thataway.” His mouth split to the wide grin, pointing in the opposite direction to the Shack.

Dipper’s heart sank as he stared into the eye of insanity. His panic returned with vengeance. “No,” he pronounced delicately. “Home’s that way.”

All amusement fell off Bill’s face as his expression hardened. A heel impatiently speared the forest floor. “Jeez kid, those flappers just for show?” Dipper flinched as Bill’s other hand shot out, fingers pulling on the silken pads of his ears, hard. “Your old home may be that way, hell it can be a crap shack for all I care. But our new home’s this way. Nice place. Two rooms, double beds, en suites, high res, flatscreen TV, everything a growing deer boy could ever need.”

“What the fuck Bi~ll!” Dipper’s voice splintered as it rose to a high pitch screech. “You said you’d free me and I could go on my way!”

"Oh, did I?" Insanity gave way briefly, the opened circle blowing wide to surprise, and for a moment Dipper was almost able to convince himself that the man he was talking to was sane and could be persuaded out of any involuntary detours, but then it blinked, sanity slipping back to crazed psychopathy.

“Whoopsies! I meant our way. We could go on _our_ way. Sorry,” Bill muttered in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all. “But you’re mine now kid. Doey eyed beauty like you?” He cackled the sort of sound that wouldn’t go out of place in a mental institute. “Doey eyed, get it, cuz you’re, heh, part deer.” One jet glove wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

Dipper didn’t join in the laughter. Instead he glowered fumingly at the hunter, his glare promising bloody murder. Bill pulled violently at his collar. “Sheesh, tough crowd. Everyone’s a critic nowadays.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly before the slumped body perked, the widened grin seeming to forget its earlier rage as bloodstained lips broke apart once more. “Ah well, as I was sayin’, doey eyed beauty like you, gotta be worth something.”

Dipper screamed protest, squawking indignantly as Bill scooped him off the ground to fling his body easily over one shoulder. His limbs dangled uselessly for a moment before he began to struggle, kicking his uninjured legs out in vicious, painful thumps. Though he figured each were fair due, the man was trying to _kidnap_ him after all.

Bill frowned. “Kid, you can either stop trying to impale my ass or we do this the hard way. And I don’t mean for me.”

Dipper paled as the rifle was hefted, reluctantly forcing the instinct screaming to run away down and uneasily settling on his perch.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The blonde grinned. Then in latest insult, the bastard started murmuring lyrics for Drip Drip Drop Little April Showers gently under his breath. 

Dipper took one last despairing look at the path that would take him back to the Shack and his family, Stan with his bulk forced into the couch, Mabel swimming merry circles of her tank, Ford locked somewhere deep beneath the bowels of the house, crammed over the latest of his ancient texts before wrenching his gaze back to his captor. All too soon the parts of forest he knew had disappeared, and he was left with the man, wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into.


	2. Day 2 - Bipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should've read the contract...

For a fleshy sack of teen-something nagging over their body being stolen, Dipper had turned surprisingly quiet. Not that you would ever catch Bill complaining about the lack of angry protests shrilly screeched into his ear because no he had not grown fond or eagerly anticipating of them. But he did feel a soft stab of  _something_ upon the first minute’s absence of conversation. Not that he guessed him cackling as the boy threatened his painful banishment from the dimension counted as conversation. But then again, going off some interactions with Sixer, especially those after the scientist had discovered the exact use for the portal he had been building in his basement; well the death threats and daggers sent his way from the pretty much a ghost would in comparison count as a pleasant catch-up between two long lost friends.

So he half-listened and continued to laugh, beaming pure insanity as the teen moved off of the subject of exorcisms and began to prattle off about the strength of love and family and yada yada yada, which admittedly got terribly  _boring_.

“Jeez Pine Tree,” he muttered, cutting off the latest defiant ramblings of  _Mabel will stop you_ s that were beginning to give him a headache now that he actually had a head to ache. “Not my fault you made a deal with a demon and didn’t read all the damn contract.”  

He had expected some dumb comeback as was how this usually went. They’d been arguing back and forth so long that it had become a well rehearsed routine between the two; he reminding the kid of their idiocy and they immediately coming out with protests of cheatings, foul play and twisted words. And yet for once Dipper was off script, holding any remark and remaining entirely silent. It wasn’t that Bill cared, or chaos forbid, was  _worried_ about the boy. It was just that the song and dance fell apart without a partner – what good was being evil when there was no goody goody wannabe hero to gloat over when you finally won?

“Aw c’mon kid, don’t be such a sulking Sally.”

Again, there was no response.

He growled, irritated. He’d finally gotten out of the crap hole dimension he’d been locked inside and the kid was being extremely inconsiderate, staying silent and trying to do everything he could to ruin what should have been one of the best days since the start of Bill’s existence.

“You know it’s really rude not to speak when someone’s talking to ya kid.” He snarled furiously, only to be totally ignored. Again.

Finally he looked up from his work, finding the boy frozen, mouth gaped open, expression slated blank as he stared dully forward.

Bill paused. Fuck, had he broken his new toy early? “Blink once for irreversibly scarred, twice for completely mindfucked and three times for A okay.” He fanned hands over the kid’s eyes, flicked fingers harshly off his forehead, even hooked stubby digits into the corners of the set line and poked the unwilling ruby up into a sloppy grin. No response. "Shit."

Bill swiped the cherry dusted stubs through Dipper's curls, grinning as the mess fell clumsily to sting irritating pricks into his eyes.

“I hate you.” Dipper finally spoke, his voice a ragged whisper as it choked adorably out of his throat, words a delicate rasp that sounded as if they’d been ripped so beautifully off the stuttering tongue.

The frown widened into a sharkish grin, stretching the sides of Dipper's face unnaturally. It wasn't spurred by relief for the kid's wellbeing. Only by confirmation that his toy hadn't been broken, only brooding.

“Aw I hate you too honey. Now come on, there’s so much to do ~ dimensions don’t take over themselves.” Bill grinned, clapping his hands together as he cheerily sang. Behind him Dipper mewled a delicious whimper as one heel crunched over the sharp trap of a metal, bloodied brace.


	3. Day 3 - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firsts and Lasts of Love

They started with Firsts.

Some small, Pitifully tiny, entirely inconsequential to most.

The First of a light tease of chocolate curls that led to a flinch as ethereal form balked, ducking away and spitting fiery protest as they hurriedly disappeared, flushed vivid scarlet as tottering legs stumbled through the nearest framework of doorway.

The First of arms snaked a ginger but steel trap around fragile waist as a head leaned to nestle a face into that cotton candy cloud of puffed cherub cheek that smeared delicate pink as fingers fumbled uselessly at the hold snaring their place.

The First of a Cheshire grin spreading to stretch gums back over polished molars as across the stretch of wood plank caught guilty gaze burnt cowardly in shame twitched away to find sudden, avid interest in discerning the exact number of frays lining the ratted ends of maroon cotton drapes.

Some large, beautifully meaningful.

The First of caramel meeting shining doe mocha, galaxies reflected in startled rings of melted cinnamon as both froze in their places, awed to silenced stupor to the impossible beauty of the one so suddenly found as their opposite.

The First of sought companionship, when a universe of jet butterflies had dripped dew of crystalline orbs to cracked dull cheeks and fingers had curled voluntarily over the ridge of shoulder, a face greedily pressed into dress shirt of its own hungry accord and stayed, burrowing further into silken embrace of crisp waistcoat to the simpered coos of comfort breathed gently into the delicate tremor of ear lobe.

Those Firsts of fingers when hands had shyly slipped into an open palm to encompass the other, gentle, unsure touches burned to perfect memory as clammy digits slick with nerves and anxiety pressed over creased ageless lines of marbled confidence.

The First of a kiss, when stubs had nervously pawed blindness over eyes and lips that had been worriedly gnawed to bloody scarlet had leaned forward, slowly, carefully, to capture the mouth offered in front of them, curious urge deepening to darkened lusted passion as grip climbed from balled fists clenched listlessly at sides to curl a gentle noose around bobbing throat, before they drew away in a breathless pant, still linked to a chain of crystal ghost slick.

The even larger, that were immortalised in laminate screen and gilt frame to be brought out and gazed through each night. 

The First time when forms had twined into each other to blissful completion, as if two puzzle pieces found their perfect fit, hooded gaze falling, brightened eyes sparkled in dew entirely devoured to insatiable need beneath seductive flutters of jet night sky lashes, buttons of shirt falling open to headed moans of want as searching touches roamed heated flesh,

The First of a creaked knee, harsh touch of sharpened stone as a form stooped elegantly to half, the First of the answering single syllable so common that had never before sounded so _right,_ sung so perfectly, joyfully happy as hands flung around waists to pull chests tighter together and seal with the eternal promise of forever.

They fought.

Their first fight was, inevitably, over his family.

They battled, threw words at each other’s faces in place of fists, even though he could incinerate his opponent with barely the lift of a finger. They exchanged ferocity, ripped screams dripped deadly venomous and barbs laced in vicious poison to caught of the moment spite.

They were opposites so opposite they never should have worked.

But somehow they made it.

They always came back together, ended in the other’s arms in that perfect fit of blazing contrast, so stark in their differences but perfectly matched, night and his day, death and his life, cruelty and his kindness.  

They had a lot of Firsts.

They had a lot of Lasts.

The Last of touches when creased rolls unforgivingly wrinkled to time had stutteringly pawed over his palm, weakly grabbing at his wrist before he’d finally taken charge and latched the digits into his own, holding the flesh carefully as if it were some priceless antique that would shatter if he held it too strong

The Last of a wrenched stutter of bathump from a heaving chest clung to a poor fit of paled gown that sagged off the wiry frame pitifully buried beneath flaxen sheets as hands ground slower, crunched inevitably, irreversibly down

The Last of a syllable, croaked in a torn whisper from a ragged throat

The Last of caramel meeting mocha as tired rounds glazed to a fogged sheen

The Last of searches through messy nest of silvered wisps 

The Last of embraces as gentle warmth slipped away to unfeeling shattered ice.

 

They started with the First quaked terrified shriek of “Bill.”

It was only fitting they ended with the Last heartbroken howl of “Dipper.”


	4. Day 4 - Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill gets cuddles the only way he knows how - threatening grievous injury to all involved

“No Bill.” Dipper glared daggers at the demon. “Nope. Non, Nyet, nej, bú shì.” He listed, shaking his head adamantly and folding his arms tighter into his chest. “Not happening. And I mean it this time, n o means no.”

“Aw c’mon Pine Tree.” The object of his disgust wheedled in a cooed simper. “It won’t even hurt that much.”

Dipper's lips pursed to an unadorable, not in any way cutesy, puppyish pout. “I have mace.” He growled, jabbing a thumb over his bunched up knees to the can placed not so innocently nearby, assuredly arms length and a quick leap away from his guarded stance. He’d checked.

“And I have temper issues, extremely severe violent tendencies and a penchant for arson.” The bastard ticked off his fingers as he chirped his cheery retort, offering the type of cat just handed the cream grin that on first seeing had already made Dipper want to rip straight off from the face of condescended sneers, pulled back gums and sharpened sharkish canines. Preferably in the most excruciatingly painful way possible.

He sighed defeat, dramatising huffs and exaggerating action as he moved his body sullenly over to the side to make room for the demon who, with a vicious smirk of triumph and ear splitting squeal that was surprisingly _schoolgirlish_ launched themselves, cackling boasts of insanity, forward with outstretched hands in an obnoxious yellowed blur at inhumane speed.

Dipper yelped as his entire form was suddenly encompassed, sight of the world reduced to nothing but Bill, Bill, Bill. He squirmed angrily against the hands that had formed and were now playfully running themselves over his body, digits mischievously messing unruly curls to tangle fuzz over vision and bunching creases at the textiles he had taken to wearing to protect his chastity – a habit he had swiftly adopted after the first of such exchanges.

“Quit moviiiiiiing.” The dream demon whined, tickling puffs of hot breath into his ear, sounding more like a petulant toddler than the ageless deity he so commonly bragged of.

“Then quit touching.” Dipper snarled, slapping angrily at the invasive limbs, though any effect of intimidation was ruined as his voice gave out to an incredibly manly squeal, two pairs of hands detaching from the fun being had of French braiding curls into some semblance of order to snake his hips and lock a snare of his waist.  

He could only squawk protest as the hands proceeded to drag him backwards, unwillingly forcing his figure to melt into the back of a broadened, warmed chest. His mouth fell open in shortened ragged pants, bursts of gasps breaking free as the being pressed itself further into him, oxygen bidding a cheery farewell as un-innocent embrace between demon and boy escalated with a happy coo to small mammal choked in involuntary asphyxiation to anaconda death grip.

He groaned out discontent, figure slumping totally limp in resignation to his fate. A sparkle of blush dusted his creamed lobster cheeks, heat pooling in his stomach as smug lips tickled puffs of hot breath into the inside of his ear. He gave a low whine as fingers petted the top of his head possessively. Dipper would never admit it out loud, but Bill Cipher, Master of Mind, Manipulator of Mortals, ex-genocidal ruler of the universe, did make a very cosy body pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Billdip Week all! And for those of you shouting for why I’m working on this and not TWTFA, relax people, the chapter for that will be up as normal. In fact that’s the reason why this is two days late - oops.   
> ~MUI


End file.
